the moment lapsed to that high pitch they sometimes assumed, "Mr Gillett
had there received from me certain instructions. Whatever you once
were," seeming not to notice the other's expression, "you have since by
your own efforts attained much. How--?" His brows knit as at something
inexplicable. "But the fact remained, was perhaps considered. Exposure
would have meant some--unpleasantness for your friends." The eyes of the
two men met; those of Lord Ronsdale were full of sardonic meaning.
"Friends who had trusted you; who," softly, "had admitted you to their
firesides, not knowing--" he broke off. "They," he still adhered to the
plural, "would have been deeply shocked, pained; would still be if they
should learn--"

"If?" John Steele did manage to contain himself, but it was with an
effort; perhaps he saw again through the fog a girl's face, white and
accusing, which had appeared; vanished. "You spoke of certain
instructions?" he even forced himself to say.

"Mr. Gillett, in the garden at Strathorn House, was authorized by me to
offer you one chance of avoiding exposure, and," deliberately, "the
attendant consequences; you were to be suffered to leave London, this
country, with the stipulation that you should never return." John Steele
shifted slightly. "You did not expect this," quickly, "you had not
included that contingency in your calculations?"

"I confess," in an even, emotionless voice, "your lordship's
complaisance amazes me."

"And you would have accepted the alternative?" The nobleman's accents
were now those of the service, diplomatic; they were concise but
measured.